


form and land

by equestrianstatue



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Sad Aeroplane Chess Introspection, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equestrianstatue/pseuds/equestrianstatue
Summary: "I'm sorry, Charles. For what happened. I truly am."Days of Future Past; Erik and Charles on the plane.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	form and land

**Author's Note:**

> This brief scene-tag from DOFP was written several years ago, I think while I was trying to get into the headspace to write [The Width of a Circle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545321).

"I'm sorry, Charles. For what happened. I truly am."

Charles holds his gaze. The apology hangs in the air between them, an olive branch real and truly-meant. Erik realises, suddenly, that it is no longer good enough, that Charles will not accept it: Charles, who, when Erik knew him, would have welcomed words so sincere, would have folded them into his heart and thanked Erik for them, thanked him for his honesty and his humility.

Charles picks up his brandy and knocks it back, and looks down at the chessboard. "It's been a while since I've played."

This is not the man that Erik remembers. Charles would never have evaded a matter so important; hell, Charles was never the one to break eye contact. Charles drank exclusively for pleasure, and not with the brisk, mechanical movement of someone taking their alcohol medicinally.

"I'll go easy on you," Erik says, and a strange kind of sorrow twists at him. "It might finally be a fair fight."

Charles gives him a smile so humourless that Erik, too, looks away. "Your move."

They play in silence, real silence, which is also new. Silence with Charles was a genuine impossibility. His mind was a constant presence, hovering at the edges of Erik's consciousness, or slipping carefully, politely inside. Half distracting and half simply familiar, Erik had grown used to Charles communicating with him constantly, even when they did not speak out loud for hours on end.

Charles is losing, what with the obvious disadvantage of no longer being able to see Erik's strategy as clearly as his own. But he is losing badly enough that this cannot be the only cause: even without his power, he is a gifted chess player. He learnt as a boy, he told Erik once. Something to stimulate his mind, something to play with friends, something to win trophies for in clubs at school and over the summer.

Chess had been a necessary staple of Erik's incarceration and subsequent travels. He had spent long, solitary hours playing against himself, learning to focus his thoughts onto a single point, onto something that existed outside of himself and his immediate surroundings. It kept him sane, kept him busy, and trained his mind to order. He had not, until he met Charles, considered the possibility of chess as a game in the most basic sense. A social indulgence, and something to enjoy.

He doesn't know what it is for them today. Something that acknowledges their shared past, their shared memories, but also a tactical battle, perhaps more than ever before. Or at least it would be, if Charles were playing to standard. It is as if parts of his brain are simply not working. Which, Erik remembers, is because that is exactly the case.

Charles looks like a mess. It's shocking, actually. In the rush and the adrenaline of the escape, Erik hadn't noticed: it was enough of a surprise that Charles had come for him. It is only now, in the lull of the journey, that it has become obvious. He fidgets a little as he waits for Erik to take a turn, and rubs at his eyes, which are bloodshot from when he did this a few minutes ago. They also look tired, and resigned, and far older than they ought to.

 _What happened?_ Erik wants to ask; _What has happened to you?_ No: he wants there to be no need to ask, for Charles to answer the question at the exact moment he feels it form in his mind, before he can translate it into speech. He used to find this disconcerting, but he misses it, and has missed it for some time.

But if he asks now – out loud – Charles will not answer him, or at least not meaningfully. He'll say _Time passed_ , or _I grew up_ , or, again, _You left me_.

The idea that Charles could lose his way like this had truly never occurred to Erik, not once in all those years. Charles, whose mind was so strong, stronger than Erik's could ever be; who had taught Erik how to control himself, with precision and gentleness. That Charles could become someone who needed that help in return, who needed _saving_ , was unthinkable. Not physically, of course: Erik had always had a clear sense of that vulnerability, of the need to protect and encase him, to pull objects from his path and bullets from his body. But it was Charles's job, Charles's talent, to pull apart the tangled web of Erik's mind and focus it, and to keep him from being engulfed by its darkest recesses.

Erik has apologised, and that is all he can do. He has no idea how to play Charles's role.

The pawn Erik is about to move quivers at his touch, but at the last moment he pulls back, changes his mind, watches it slide in the opposite direction, away from the enclosure he is gradually forming around Charles's king. He could, conceivably, be sending it in the direction of his remaining rook instead. But Charles's eyes flick up to his face.

"Don't patronise me," he says. "If you're going to let me win, let me do it with a little dignity."

That swift, intelligent look is joltingly familiar, and Erik remembers that Charles's ability to read him is, at its core, nothing at all to do with his power.


End file.
